Later that evening as the newsroom lights dimmed, one by one as the last voices faded down the hallway. Chairs rolled back. Laughter drifted from the elevator. Someone dropped a pen and didn't bother picking it up. The rhythm of the day's work slowed to a halt like a wind-up clock running out of tension.
Nadia packed her bag like everyone else, methodically tucking her notebook beneath her laptop, coiling her charger into a neat loop. She smiled at the janitor who nodded back with the familiarity of someone who'd seen too many journalists burning midnight oil.
"Another late one, Ms. Brown?" he asked, leaning on his mop.
"Not tonight," she lied with practiced ease. "Just finishing up."
She nodded to Yvette from Graphics as they passed in the hallway, exchanged obligatory promises to "grab lunch sometime next week," then quietly circled back once the elevator doors closed.
The silence felt like an embrace. Empty desks, humming vents, and the cool blue glow from her screen cast long shadows across the floor. The newsroom transformed after hours—no longer a battlefield of deadlines and ringing phones, but a cathedral of possibility. She pulled out her notes, spread them across the desk, and breathed in. Here, she could think. Despite the pain in her heart, she needed to prep for the entertainment pitch. She needed to feel like this promotion wasn't some kind of exile.
Her fingers traced the edge of her notebook where she'd scribbled "Entertainment: Angle?" with three question marks. She'd spent ten years clawing her way to Investigative. Entertainment felt like a demotion wrapped in congratulatory paper.
Then her phone buzzed, the screen illuminating with a familiar name.
Jayson: How did it go?
She paused, thumbs hovering over the screen. Should she reply or not? Jayson's presence back in her life had already started to cost her things—her relationship with Bryan, for one. What else was she going to lose?
Regret washed over her. Maybe, just maybe, she shouldn't have chased that lead. Shouldn't have looked for that noise. Shouldn't have contacted Jayson or accept those documents.
But what does regret do? The deed had already been done. She'd better withdraw herself from Jayson once the story was published. Clean break. Back to normal life—whatever "normal" meant now.
Her phone buzzed again.
Jayson: Guess you're still at the office? I'm somewhere close.
Nadia bit her lip, then instinctively typed back: Where? Looking around.
A moment passed before the response came.
Jayson: Cafe Luna. Opposite. Mind coming down?
Nadia glanced at her computer screen. The draft was done. She could spare a few minutes.
The cool night air hit her face as she stepped out of the building, a welcome relief after hours under artificial light. Across the street, the warm golden glow of Cafe Luna beckoned. Through the window, she could make out Jayson's silhouette— hunched slightly over what was probably his third espresso of the night.
The cafe door jingled as she pushed it open. Jayson looked up, his face brightening momentarily before his expression changed to concern.
"Nadia," he said, standing as she approached. His eyes narrowed, studying her face. "What happened to you?"
She slid into the chair opposite him, avoiding his gaze. "What do you mean?"
"Your eyes are red. And there's something..." He gestured vaguely. "Different about you."
Nadia forced a smile. "It's nothing. Just haven't been sleeping properly while drafting the story. You know how it is."
Jayson nodded slowly, unconvinced. He pushed a cup toward her. "I ordered you a flat white. Still your poison?"
"Thanks." She wrapped her hands around the warm mug, grateful for something to hold onto. "Still remember my coffee order after all these years."
"Some things you don't forget," he said quietly.
The silence stretched between them, weighted with unasked questions.
"So," Jayson finally broke the quiet. "Were you able to resolve everything with Bryan?"
The question hit her like a slap. She stared down at her coffee, watching the thin layer of foam dissolve into the darkness beneath.
"It's over," she said flatly.
Jayson's expression fell. "Nadia, I'm—"
"Don't," she cut him off. "Don't say you're sorry. It's not your fault." She took a sip of coffee to steady herself. "It was bound to end anyway. Bryan and I... we wanted different things. He wanted stability, a nine-to-five partner who'd be home for dinner every night. I wanted..." She gestured vaguely at the night outside. "This. The chase. The story."
"The truth," Nadia added softly.
"Yeah," she agreed. "The truth."
Jayson leaned forward, dropping his voice. "Speaking of which, how did it go at work? Did your chief approve your final draft?"
Nadia nodded, some of her professional pride returning. "He said the story was good to go. Publication tomorrow."
"And?"
"And what?"
"Come on, Nadia. I know that look. There's more."
She couldn't help the small smile that tugged at her lips. "He reassigned me . Said I'm to help revive the entertainment team."
Jayson's eyebrows shot up. "Entertainment? You? The woman who couldn't tell me the name of a single pop star last time we talked?"
"I know," she laughed, the first genuine laugh she'd had all day. "But he said within a week I'd have the promotion I've been after. Senior editor, better pay, more resources."
Jayson's smile faded. He tapped his fingers on the table, a habit she remembered from when he was thinking through a problem.
"You realize what's happening, don't you?" he asked. "You're being pushed out of the investigation."
"What? No, that's not—"
"How well do you know about your chief?"
Nadia frowned. "Tyrone? He joined us last week. New blood from corporate. Requested articles that 'make noise,' as he put it."
"And immediately after you file a major investigative piece on murder case, he shuffles you off to entertainment?" Jayson shook his head. "Nadia, that's not a coincidence."
"You're being paranoid," she said, but doubt had begun to creep in.
Jayson checked his watch. "It's already some minutes after 10:15 PM. Let's head back to your office. I want to check something."
"Jayson, I can't just bring you into the newsroom—"
"This late? Who's going to notice?"
Ten minutes later, the two of them were creeping through the side stairwell of Herald carefully avoiding detection by the night duty personnel. The building creaked with night sounds—air ducts, settling pipes, old wood frames breathing. Their footsteps echoed no matter how lightly they stepped. 
"This is insane," Nadia whispered. "I could get fired."
"Sometimes you have to break rules to expose truth," Jayson replied, not slowing. "Isn't that what you got into journalism for?"
Against her better judgment, Nadia found herself nodding.
They reached the executive floor. Jayson held up a hand, listening, before proceeding down the carpeted hallway toward Tyrone's office. He glanced back, raised a finger to his lips.
The door was locked. He pulled a thin piece of plastic from his wallet, jimmied the edge—two quick slides and a click.
"How did you—"
"Misspent youth," he murmured. "Come on."
Inside, the office smelled like polished leather and filtered ambition. Moonlight streamed through blinds, casting prison-bar shadows across Tyrone's immaculate desk. Nadia stood near the door while Jayson flicked on the desk lamp.
The surface was pristine. No paper. No folder. Just a sleek computer and a framed photo of Tyrone shaking hands with a mysterious western man. Jayson took a snap of the picture with his phone.
"He looked familiar." Jayson muttered.
"Tyrone?" Nadia asked 
"Yes, but can't remember..."
"So, what exactly are we looking for?" Nadia whispered.
"I want to know more about Tyrone," Jayson replied. "Look around. Anything that might tell us who he really is."
Reluctantly, Nadia began scanning the bookshelf. Tyrone hadn't had time to personalize the office much—no family photos, no diplomas on the wall. Just business books and industry awards.
"Jay, I don't think we're going to find anything—"
"Nadia," he interrupted, his voice suddenly serious. "Come look at this."
She moved to his side, peering at what he'd found in the wastepaper basket beside the desk. Her heart sank. It was her story—the expose she'd poured her soul into—shredded into confetti-sized pieces.
"But he said..." she stammered. "He told me it was top-notch. That we were running it tomorrow."
Jayson carefully laid the fragments on the desk, trying to reassemble them like a puzzle. "He lied. Look at these markings—'kill story."
Nadia felt as though she might be sick. "Why would he do this?"
"Think about it," Jayson said grimly. "A new executive comes in from corporate right as you're about to expose massive corruption. He praises your work, then destroys it and reassigns you where you can't do any more damage."
"You think he's connected to senator Lewis?"
"I think," Jayson said slowly, "that the corruption runs deeper than we thought. And someone doesn't want you digging any further."
Nadia stared at the shredded remains of her work, anger replacing her shock. "What do we do now?"
"First, we need to get out of here before someone sees us," Jayson said, carefully returning the shredded paper to the wastebasket. "And you need to pretend you don't know anything."
"What?"
"Listen to me, Nadia. Tyrone can't be trusted. Shifting you to the entertainment team is meant to cripple you—remove you from the investigative desk for good. If he knows that you know..."
"It could be dangerous," she finished, the full reality of the situation finally dawning on her.
"Exactly. For now, play along. Go to your new assignment. Smile. Act disappointed about your story being delayed for 'legal review' or whatever excuse he gives you."
"While what? We just let them get away with it?"
Jayson's eyes gleamed in the dim light of the office. "No. We go deeper. Find out who Tyrone really works for. Build an even bigger story." He squeezed her shoulder. "But until I discover what else to do, you must pretend you don't know anything. Can you do that?"
Nadia nodded slowly. "Yes. But I need to rewrite my story—save what I can."
"I'll help you."
They slipped out of Tyrone's office and back to Nadia's desk. For the next thirty minutes, Jayson stayed with her as she reconstructed her article from memory, adding new details, strengthening her arguments. The words flowed differently this time—sharper, more urgent.
"You know," she said during a brief pause, "this reminds me of old times. You and me against the world."
Jayson smiled, the soft light of the computer screen illuminating his tired face. 
"I've missed this," she admitted. "Working with someone who gets it."
"Me too," he said quietly.
"I just remembered something. Need to check it out." Jayson said "Sure you'll be okay alone here?"
"Of course. Journalists stay overnight filling in their reports"
"If you say so"
Nadia nodded, suddenly reluctant to see him leave. "Jay?"
He turned back. "Yeah?"
"Thank you. For everything."
A soft smile crossed his face. "Get some rest if you can. I'll be in touch." He squeezed her hand briefly, then slipped away through the emptying newsroom, leaving Nadia alone with her thoughts and the beginnings of a story much bigger than she had initially imagined.
She saved her work into her flashdrive, and continued her Entertainment story. She's prepared to face Tyrone with what she hoped was a convincing poker face. Whatever game they were playing now, the stakes had just gotten much higher.